


Nuclear Kisses

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Swearing, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 13:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13682688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: Nick doesn't care about Valentine's Day. At all.Hancock does, though. Very much so.Dogmeat is a Good Boy.





	Nuclear Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Nick Valentine's Day!

Nick doesn't really think anything special about the date. February on the whole is a dreary month to him. The low temperatures and occasional radioactive snowfalls fuck with his exposed wiring when he's not careful. He's had to start wearing a scarf so that at least the glowing snowflakes don't get inside his neck through the giant hole because that's just the most unpleasant experience ever. His skeletal forearm is freezing cold all the time without an isolation layer of skin and it keeps messing with the pain receptors higher in the arm. Nick's an old synth, for goodness' sake. Of course the long winter makes him grumpy.

So he doesn't care when February the fourteenth comes around. It's just a date to him, just another day he spends in Sanctuary sitting in front of the fireplace in the house Nate decided is Nick’s, reading a book and chain-smoking, which he pretends helps keep the cold at bay. He mostly ignores the red and pink tacky decorations around the entire town, the frankly unbearable ensemble of love songs Travis set up on the Diamond City Radio and the giggling female settlers who hope to suddenly find their soulmates just because this Tuesday happens to be a pre-war holiday. The young can have their fun. Nick honestly, totally doesn’t care.

 

* * *

 

Hancock cares, though.

Because as a synth, Nick has no birthday, Hancock decided a long time ago that Valentine’s Day would be it. So of course, just like every year, he frets about it. What does one get a man who wants for nothing? Especially when that man is a grumpy robot detective, an old and dependable friend and, since forever, someone Hancock really hopes to become _more than friends_ with eventually. Winning Nick over with gifts is damn well impossible, though. At least for anyone who’s not Nate. Hancock’s not jealous, obviously, he loves Nate like a brother and all that, but. It’s just a tiniest bit unfair that he never gets anything but silent disapproval and the tiniest hints of fondness no matter how hard he tries, but Nate hacks one terminal or fifty and suddenly he’s the shit. It’s not like Hancock _wants_ the damn things to lock up on him. He’s just bad at technology. And being a detective. And also being a responsible adult, admittedly, but that’s hardly important anyway.

He sucks at gifts, too, it seems, because as the day passes, Hancock’s no closer to a valid idea. What happened to planning such things beforehand? Ah, yeah, his lack of adulting skills. Anyways. He tried to kick-start his imagination with a breakfast of multi-colored Mentats, but all he got for his trouble was an elaborate fantasy in which he still had his pretty blond locks and also was suddenly good at hacking terminals, but only those with heart-shaped decals on the side. And instead of valuable information, the terminals contained images of Nick Valentine doing various shit. Like smiling, being handsome and, well. Smiling.

No, anyway, the whole exercise was pointless, even if it put Hancock in a good mood. It didn’t do shit to solve the problem at hand, which is, birthdays require gifts and gifts require ideas, and fuck it, he has none. Last year he didn’t give Nick anything and it sucks. The year before that, he thinks he sent a nice shipment of Nick’s favorite cigarettes to his agency in Diamond City. Or he wanted to. Memories from back then are a bit hazy. But. Once, he gave Nick a working holotape recorder. He worked his ass off to afford it. Myrna didn’t even give him a discount, damn her. Pity he got high on some weirdly spiked Jet and kinda broke the thing a few days later, before it could be of any use to Nick at all. Nick wasn’t even angry with him. He’s never been angry with John, not once since they met. Just. Disappointed.

Hancock doesn’t want to be a disappointment. He wants to give Nick something so amazing, so abso-fucking-lutely Goddamn fine the detective will immediately fall for him. Or at least smile more. For him, not for Nate, and Hancock is still not jealous, but maybe he is, just a little.

He sighs and buries his face in the fur of Dogmeat’s neck.

‘Life’s hard when you’re in love, pup,’ he informs the dog.

Dogmeat licks his hand in sympathy. He’s a good boy. He doesn’t judge a guy. He understands. He doesn’t even mind sharing the space of his doghouse with Hancock. That much can’t be said about some people. Just this morning Danse threatened to go nuclear if he finds Hancock stealing his blankets again. So now, Hancock’s literally in the doghouse because it’s warmer than his room. And because of Dogmeat's friendly company. But, honestly, more so because of the heat.

He could've bought Nick a new tie. Or a new hat, the current one's on the verge of falling apart. But does Nick even want a new hat? If he did, he'd just get a new hat. No, stupid idea. How about a scarf? Hancock could probably learn to knit in time for... another end of the world, perhaps. He's too clumsy to craft something that precise, damn it. Also, Nick already has a nice scarf from Nate, who else, Hancock hates it with a passion, it's big and warm and fluffy. Like a perfect scarf. Gloves then, maybe? He's pretty sure he saw a pair in that stall in Red Rocket last week or something. It's so impersonal, though. Nick deserves the best gifts, not some random gloves from a third-rate merchant in a neighboring settlement.

It sucks, not being particularly good at anything.

Like, okay, Hancock's good at stabbing things. He's also decent at rousing speeches, if his people back in Goodneighbor can be trusted. Neither of these translate particularly well to gift-giving. Damn, he really should have started looking for a present earlier. Who knows what he could've found! A sweet-ass revolver like in the old detective films he's never seen but heard Nick and Nate talking about, for example. Or a good book, Nick loves books. Maybe something cool for his office.

'See, doggo? Tis' why I can't have nice things,' he mutters. 'At this point, only thing I can give him is my super-entertaining company. And my chocolate stash.'

Dogmeat looks at him. Hancock blinks.

'Now this is why I like you, pup, you're a genius!' He announces.

How could've he forgotten? Nick's got an enormous sweet tooth. He used to make fun of the detective for that precise reason, for fuck's sake, these chems are really rotting his brain. But really, it's the perfect gift. Chocolate or, to be specific, pre-war chocolate candy called _Nuclear Kisses_. The only reason he has it is totally epic luck. On one of the scavenger runs a few months before he became mayor, he found a bunker not far from Goodneighbor. It had decent canned food stores, but more importantly, it held an entire safebox of sweets. Most of it's gone by now, of course, Hancock's a generous guy, but not the _Nuclear Kisses_. He used to have three boxes of it, he's down to one after all this time. It's the best candy in the whole damn world, just as tasty to a ghoul as it was when he was human, and as far as he knows, there's only one tiny box of it left.

Hancock grins. What better to give to a man who's also the best in the world – and the only one of his kind?

There's a problem with this plan, though. Hancock doesn't have the candy with him. It's too precious to carry around, obviously. He locked it in the hidden safe under the desk in his office. Fahrenheit called him paranoid, but Hancock knows there are people who would kill for that chocolate. Bobbi No-Nose tried, after all. Got Nate involved and all that. Turned out well in the end, but only because her intel was wrong in suggesting he'd keep his biggest treasure in a place as insecure as a storeroom. Thing is, it's still there. In Goodneighbor, in the Old State House, some good ten hours away from where Hancock needs it to be.

Hancock groans, then pets Dogmeat and asks, 'Maybe I'll ask the tin-can to get me a vertibird?'

The dog whines softly.

'Yeah,' Hancock agrees, 'dumb idea. Guy's pissed enough as it is when Nate's away. Might as well shoot myself while I'm at it.'

It's almost four in the afternoon. He could conceivably make it to Goodneighbor today, assuming there are no problems on the road and he runs all the way there, but there's absolutely no physical possibility that he'd be able to return to Sanctuary and hand Nick his present in time. If only the Institute weren't such complete tools, Nate could've secured those teleporter things and travel wouldn't be a problem. But they are, and it is, and Hancock curses his own unpreparedness again.

Although,

'What if I get him to go with me?' He asks Dogmeat.

It's definitely a possibility. Not a strong one, because Nick's not the kind of person to go wandering around the wasteland in winter, especially not while Nate's away. But if Hancock can make a convincing enough argument... Nick would likely agree? He wouldn't say no just because it's Hancock asking, certainly. They're friends. There used to be distance between them, Hancock's own fault, that, but it's all better now. Since they both started travelling with Nate, since they both became a part of something bigger than they thought they'd be, it all changed. They're just as close now as they used to be when Hancock was young and dumb back in Diamond City. Closer, probably. If Hancock asks Nick for help, or maybe even hires him for a pretend-job to make it more believable, the detective won't decline. Probably. Possibly. Maybe? Yeah, a definite maybe.

With an idea almost clear in mind, Hancock pets Dogmeat and crawls out of the doghouse, smiling when his spot is immediately taken over by Valka, the giant mutt Nate picked up on the road a few weeks ago.

It's already getting dark. Winter sucks. Hancock dreads the journey he's planning to make in the dark, half buried in the snow out there in the wastelands. Nick's so worth it, though. Determined, he stops at his place first to get changed because he probably smells like wet dog. He takes almost half an hour to pick an outfit. Like a dickhead he is, he chooses style over utility in hopes of somehow impressing Nick even though it never worked before; and he regrets this decision very much the instant he walks back outside where snowfall is picking up again. At this rate, roofs will start collapsing under the weight. He's gonna have to mention that to Nate when the guy's back from wherever he ran off to with Garvey on some Minutemen business.

He knocks on the door to Nick's house, then enters without waiting for a reply because it's too damn cold. Humans, he noticed, take the weather much better than he does. Since becoming ghoulified, he's been like a goddamn reptile, absorbing heat whenever the sun was out and losing it rapidly when the temperatures outside dropped. Only it's worse because instead of hibernating when he's too cold, he's just in giant fucking pain. Some aspects of being a ghoul are awesome, but others tend to suck in specific circumstances. Winter is one of those.

He really should've worn a sweater under the sweet leather jacket Nate got for him back in November. Or at least a thicker shirt. Aesthetics is one thing, albeit important, but going feral after enduring all of five minutes of mind-gnawing cold is quite another.

'John,' Nick greets him, breaking up his little internal fashion debate. Hancock grins weakly in response, looking up at him.

Nick's huddled on the coach in front of the fireplace. He has a blanket around his arms and two more wrapped around his legs and torso, and there's a book in his lap which he must've been reading before Hancock's interruption.

'I know it's kinda chilly outside, but uh, fancy a walk?' Hancock offers lamely. It might've been more of a convincing proposition if he wasn't shivering so obviously.

Nick looks at him. The arch of one of his eyebrows is impressive. Hancock doesn't think he's ever felt so attacked by nothing but a judgmental expression on someone's face before.

'The temperature is below zero degrees, the coldest it's been for literal years,' the detective informs him, 'and yet you're wearing your leathers _unzipped_. Have you lost your Goddamn mind?'

'Probably,' Hancock admits, because fuck, he's cold. His teeth are clattering so hard he's a bit afraid he might lose them if it goes on too long. Screw dignity. Screw bright ideas. Screw everything.

'Please tell me you have more blankets,' he begs shamelessly.

Nick rolls his eyes. 'C'mere,' he grumbles, patting the spot next to him on the coach. Hancock all but runs to him and plops down. He takes off the leather jacket because it's colder than not wearing it at the moment. He also removes the hat and puts it on the small table next to the couch. The warmth of the fireplace hits his skin and provides instant relief to his aching joints, almost like a drug. He could melt here and it'd be the best death ever.

'You're such an idiot sometimes,' Nick says, though Hancock thinks he can detect some fondness in his tone so he just smiles sheepishly.

Nick sighs, then unwraps the blankets. 'Just this once,' he mutters and pulls Hancock into an unexpected embrace. Surprised, Hancock doesn't react and lets the detective rearrange them to his satisfaction. Only when he is half on top of Nick's incredibly warm body, with his head on the synth's sweater-clad chest, wrapped securely in blankets does he regain his ability to speak enough to ask,

'Are we cuddling?'

He's sure he'll get yelled at or pushed away, or both, but Nick chuckles. 'Yes, John, indeed we are,' the detective says smugly. 'Anything else you'd like to know?'

'I'll fall asleep on you,' Hancock warns softly. It's the least embarrassing thing he can manage. The poetic love confessions running through his mind at the moment would be rather awkward.

'I don't mind,' Nick says. 'Just don't move around too much and you'll be fine, doll.'

True to his word, soon Hancock does fall asleep to the soft whirring sound of some mechanism inside Nick's chest. He thinks he can also hear a heartbeat in there. Or maybe it's just a dream.

 

* * *

 

Valentine's Day. Nick doesn't really think anything special about the date. The love songs on the radio are just meaningless ambient music he's too lazy to turn off. The tacky decorations he allowed to be placed even on his own porch are harmless, even if he does personally think they're an eyesore. The giggling girls and boys outside build a bonfire to celebrate the pre-war holiday in their own post-war way and yeah, it's a good thing they're able to think about something happy instead of sheer survival. The young should have their fun.

He picks up the worn out book he was reading before John came in – _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ , one of his favorite classics. John mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep, grabs Nick's free hand – the robotic one - and doesn't let go. Nick smiles.

 _What an idiot_ , he thinks fondly and returns to reading.

He might yet start to like February.

 

* * *

 

(A few weeks later, when spring finally arrives in the Commonwealth and the snow begins to melt, Hancock disappears without a word. He returns two days later, though. The first thing he does is find Nick and hand him a small box of gold-wrapped candy. The label in elegant script says _Nuclear Kisses_. Nick's had a lot of sweets in his synth life, but he understandably never tried this particular type of candy before. His pre-war counterpart, however, loved the brand. It's a wonder something like this even survived the bombs. Nick isn't sure he deserves such a gift. What he is sure of is, with how he's missed all signals, he's probably not as good a detective as he'd hoped. He gets it now.

'Happy birthday,' Hancock says, looking away in embarrassment. 'I know it's kinda late, I should've thought sooner, but then the snows came, you know how I get when it's cold, so I had to-'

'John,' Nick interrupts. When Hancock looks up at him, eyes wide and honest, Nick pulls him into his arms and says through a smile, 'Thank you.'

Their first kiss tastes of pre-war chocolate. A dead man's memory doesn't even compare.)

**Author's Note:**

> ... first time I wrote something for Valentine's Day, ever. I wrote half of this at work. That's what this damn game did to me.  
>  Let me know what you think!


End file.
